Thursday, January 30, 2014

Letting Go

It's so soon. I only found out this morning. I will only be pregnant for another few hours. Another day at the most. Another frail creature slipping in and out of my life.

Sometimes my loud voice annoys even me. I wish I was one of those who carries her worries, fears, heartbreak and even extreme happiness quietly. Not entirely sure why I have the need to lay out my heart out for all to see. I don't know why.

I'm holding my 8th baby's lifeless form within my womb. Soon it will be gone. My 2nd baby, the only one I've been able to hold, now a sweet young man, lays beside me looking up puppies on Petfinder.com. I'm very grateful for him in so many ways. I feel like I'm somehow less of a mother for being sad while he's on the sidelines.

Funny, once I acknowledged the loss it was like my body was given permission to let go. The bleeding is already getting heavier. I passed some tissue.

I just got off the phone with one of my midwives, Tinneca. I couldn't hardly talk.

Irrational things keep going through my head. Ways to temporarily escape.  They're fleeting, though.

Earlier I got out of the car and was feeling nauseous. My belly still felt heavy. My uterus is still larger, pushing my organs up high. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I still feel pregnant but the baby in my uterus isn't alive. But I have a harder time with the idea that soon it won't be there anymore. There's no way to hold on and my little creature will slip away. For now my body is a mausoleum. A shrine to all the hopes I am having to let go of.
I prayed the whole way in. Even while stepping up onto the table. My last desperate pleas to not show what I most feared.  "It's measuring 4 weeks behind." "Maybe the dates are off?" "I'm not seeing a heart beat." She tried to be kind. She tried to be non-committal.

I feel like I was kicked out of a club. The one where women get to grow big and feel kicks. Where people look forward to meeting their little one. Where I routinely hear "Congratulations!"  Where people give me hand-me-downs. Where people knit my little one beautiful things. Where I think about what toys I want my baby to have (wooden ones and natural rubber teethers). What theme (woodland creatures). How we want to school (unschool). First foods. Car seats. Clothes.

I keep saying weird things. I keep focusing on stupid shit. I have weird moments of absurd normalness followed by gut wrenching sobs.

I know what I have to look forward to and I'm not exactly thrilled about it. Sorry for the TMI but I don't want don't want the baby to fall into the toilet. It really freaks me out. My baby isn't waste or rubbish. And I just want some sort of proof that this was real. That it's not in my head and I really was growing a child within me.

And the empty spot reserved for my little one? It's still there. Do we try again? How long should we wait if we do try again? My body, with the supplemental progesterone, seemed to do great this time. Will this happen again? Does it have to do with what happened to my other pregnancies?

I do acknowledge the good things. I got pregnant and even a little further than before. Even if it stopped growing at 6 weeks that's a week further than I got before. That's good, right? 

Also, both of my boys are being insanely comforting. All while trying to process the loss of child and sibling. We have all shed tears. I'm so grateful we have each other.

I've learned a lot of other things, too. But I think I'm still processing those things.

My head hurts. I think I want to be done for now.

2 comments:

Rev. Raea Sunshine said...

I absolutely identify with this Johanna. I'm still working through the miscarriage I recently had a couple months back. Your words are beautiful and resonated with me so much. Very powerful and healing. I love you... I'm always here if you need someone.

<3
-Raea

Danica said...

Johanna, you articulated so clearly here exactly my headspace from my 2010 experience (minus my bouts of incoherent screaming into pillows for hours at a stretch). I remember so clearly hugging my own in-arms kiddo, thinking, "I don't want to be here, I don't want to do this, I can't do it ..." followed immediately by wracking guilt. I wish a good passing for you, a birth, a chance to acknowledge the lost child, to grieve. Good, my heart aches for you, knowing as you do that that pain doesn't subside quickly and the ache that follows isn't easy to share. Hugs from a distance from someone who's only known you briefly as a name on a screen.